


Gifts

by never_wanted_to_dance



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Things, Gen, Gifts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_wanted_to_dance/pseuds/never_wanted_to_dance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five gifts from Grantaire that Enjolras rejected, and one that he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_1\. Wine_

The first gift Grantaire ever tried to give Enjolras was hastily procured in a damp, crowded bar one late summer night. The throngs of people, students and workers alike pressed up against the doors, straining the old café to its full capacity. Grantaire was guarding his rickety bar stool perch from all those jostling up against him, nursing the same glass of wine he'd had for the last half hour and brooding silently over the mess of a day he'd had.

'Another vin rouge, monsieur' He turned slightly, having failed to notice the man who'd edged in beside him at the bar. He wore a slightly tattered red coat over the standard semi-uniform of the students. His dress did not detract from the resplendency of his manner though, the bright jacket only adding to the self-assured way he held himself. He dug deep into his pocket for coins as the bartender placed the bottle in front of him, brushing against Grantaire's arm as he did so. His pale face coloured lightly as his search produced nothing, striking against his light golden curls in the dim light.

'I er, please excuse me sir' he muttered, making to turn away.

Before Grantaire knew what he was doing he was reaching into his own pocket and thrusting his last sou towards the stranger. The man stopped and stared at it, his mouth opening to accept or deny the offer as his bright eyes lifted to meet eyes with his drunken benefactor. 'Enjolras what's the hold up? Here, it's my turn anyway I believe.' A tall young man with dark hair and a laughing voice sprung up from behind them, grinning as he threw some coins towards the bar and grabbed his friend by the shoulder. Grantaire smiled blearily and pocketed his sou, casting his eyes back down towards his glass as the young man led his beautiful stranger away. His ears focused in on the sound of a particularly animated conversation in the corner though for the rest of the evening as snippets of loud, passionate voices drifted over. That particular café soon became a firm favourite with Grantaire from that night on.

_2\. Cloth_

By the time Grantaire finally got up the courage to sidle over to the table in the corner and expressed a half-hearted interest in their ideas, the students were arguing over what the unifying symbol of the revolution should be. Once the tricolour rosette had been surely agreed on, it was up to the students to create their own symbols. Some took to it easier than others, stealing scraps of cloth from their mothers sewing baskets and deftly fixing them together with nimble fingers. Others tore up old clothes and pinned them hastily to their jackets, holding them in place with old brass buttons.

Enjolras's cockade was neat and clean, or at least it was until the day it was knocked off his jacket lapel in the street by an irate policeman. He showed up to the meeting without one that night and it's absence was duly noted by the silent Grantaire in the back of the loud room. That night he set the wine bottle aside for a while and sat in the candlelit shadows of his drafty room, trying to replicate the neat and tidy rosette that he had seen on others. His own was messy and stained, but the one he managed to create after an hours work was much more fitting of a leader of a revolution. And if it was just a little frayed around the edges, well, who would be looking so closely? His fingers had not held a needle in a long while, but he still remembered some of what he had learned stitching boots with his father in his youth, and he poured his memories into the homely little thing.

The next night he waited on a chair by the door, his fingers curled around the extra rosette in his pocket. As the rest of the students chattered and laughed he sat, a quiet pride filling his chests as they waited for Enjolras. As his friend strode into the room he stood, and caught himself sharply just before taking it from his pocket. He walked into the room and reached for a drink as the meeting began, led by Enjolras in his beautiful coat, his shining hair and his brand new, bright and clean rosette perched proudly upon his chest.

_3\. Time_

Between their studies and social lives the students were expected to devote as much time as possible to their cause. Handing out leaflets, spying on the police, spreading the word among the commoners - they all had to take their share and play their respective parts. Enjolras had a face known to the majority of Paris so after a while he began to take the more high profile jobs, leading the street rallies and disturbing the peace at any opportunity.

For the first few weeks he was there, Grantaire simply followed him around, waiting to be told what to do. They largely ignored him really, assuming he was too drunk or too cynical to be trusted to do anything important. He laughed at their ideas behind their backs and they laughed at him to his face in return. They mostly became his tentative friends in time, always up for a drink and a laugh with their juxtaposition of a companion, but when it came to the important things the students never counted on him as a true member of the Ami's. Enjolras treated him kindly but kept him largely at a distance, devoting his time to his important causes rather than waste it on the drunkard who was so determined not to believe in anything at all.

It was funny though, Grantaire realised after a while. Much as he believed their ideas were highly suspect and their optimism blind, if he'd been asked to jump into the Seine for Enjolras's sake he would have gladly done so, revolution or no revolution. It was a solid, earthly, honest-to-god man he was following, not a vague idea of hope and freedom and patria. A man who deserved all of his time and effort and work. If only he had wanted any of it.

_4\. Service_

Grantaire had never killed a man before. Neither had the majority of the students of course, they were all too young to have been used by the state as pawns in their wars. He had seen a man die though, shortly after first coming to Paris. Held him in his arms in the street as the life bled out of him, an anonymous victim of a street fight. He hadn't known the man, hadn't wept over him or even cared particularly that he was dying, but he'd stayed simply out of a strange sense of obligation, and perhaps, he was ashamed to admit, a certain morbid curiosity. With the exception maybe of the nervous young doctor in training among them, he figured he was the only one of their company who could say so.

He wondered about Enjolras sometimes. He expected a lot of them, not only to be willing to lay down their own lives for the freedom of others but to take the lives of those who proposed to stop them. There was hardly one amongst them who had even held a gun before, let alone fired one into another mans heart. Wishing death upon a regime was one matter, wishing it on other human beings was another entirely. It took a very particular type of man to believe they were one and the same thing, and it was unsettling to think that the man he admired so much could think that way.

Service of this type was likely required here though, and it was his service that Enjolras would receive, right or wrong as it may be. As he whispered drunkenly into his leader's ear one night as the cafe emptied out, he would march through Paris and kill the king himself, slowly and torturously, if it meant more days to spend on earth, drinking and fucking and laughing with his friends while they still had time. Enjolras had smiled sadly, patted his hand and told him quietly that they should both hope it would not come to that.

_5\. Love_

It was clear to everybody from the very moment that Grantaire joined the company that his sole reason for being there was standing at the front of the room shouting orders and charming the masses. He was drawn to him whether he wanted to be or not, a satellite in permanent orbit around just one thing. Everybody, that is, except Enjolras. He saw little except the distant horizon of victory and freedom which seemed to require a great deal of concentration, because he certainly couldn't see what was hovering right below his nose. He took no notice of women, although he certainly could have had his pick had he chosen to. He refrained from drinking at all, scorning it as a worthless hobby that did nothing but cloud the mind and distract the senses.

He tolerated Grantaire's affections without knowing they existed for the most part. He allowed him to sit close and whisper quietly and drunkenly in his ear and touch his shoulder and hand and leg gently for reasons unknown to anybody, including himself. Grantaire clung to this thought in his loneliest nights, hoping against hope that there must be some sort of affection buried deep within that infernal statue of a man. His apparent life revolved around laughing at irony and folly, but inside his own life was now consumed by the need of the one man who seemed to be alive for the sole purpose of being his opposite in every way possible.

One night as they left their meeting place he hung back and waited until the candles were almost all out, watching Enjolras as he read through a collection of papers Combeferre had left behind for him to look over. His leader had looked over and smiled absently, storing his papers to one side and standing up to leave.

'Grantaire. Will you walk with me?' Grantaire got to his feet so quickly the chair fell over in the dust. It was rare to be asked something rather than told or commanded. They walked, arm in arm through the dim streets of Paris in comfortable silence, Grantaire slowly sobering up in the cold air and reveling in the strange feeling of true companionship that had settled over him. They had reached the house in which Grantaire spent most of his nights and paused.

'Will you... will you come in?' he muttered, lifting his eyes boldly to the man in front of him. Enjolras smiled once more, beautiful and terrible and stepped forward to rest his forehead lightly and affectionately against Grantaire's for a moment, then stepped back and shook his head.

'I'm sorry.'

Later Grantaire would realise that the man he admired so much did have one failing - he was entirely too noble for his own good. For now though he shrugged, plastered a fake sarcastic smile onto his tired face and turned on his heel towards his empty apartments once more.


	2. Chapter 2

_Life_

There was only so much alcohol to be had really, and there wasn't enough in the world to completely dull the sound of the gunfire that night, though there were many who wished it could. Death echoing off the pavement stones on a Parisian summer night. Grantaire knew how to drink to forget about a lot of things, in fact he considered himself quite the expert. Give him a bottle of brandy and a floor to sleep on and life was perfect once more. But this, this was harder to ignore. Death on your doorstep, loud and messy, it wasn't the kind of thing that led to many peaceful nights of happy sleep, just noise and colour, swimming in an angry haze til the guns reached you at last.

So when the shouting and the running and the gunfire finally reached the door, there was no ignoring it any longer. Peeling himself off the floor of the liquor shop was easy by then- seeing what ran in the door less so. Enjolras burst in, his regal red coat drowning in the spilled red blood of his fallen friends. The gunpowder burnt into his hands and forearms looked deathly wrong against the pale young skin. He slammed the door behind him, looking around wildly for something to barricade it with and instead saw-

'Grantaire!' His mouth fell open, shaking his head in disbelief. He ran over and pushed Grantaire down forcefully, back behind the counter of the shop where he'd found himself when he woke up and crouched down next to him. 'Look, they don't know you're here and if you stay quiet they won't know, for god's sake Grantaire please don't let them know you're here. Marius is wounded but he might yet live, and you can too, I know you never wanted this anyway, it's me they want really. You don't need to die here. Are you understanding me?' he half shouted, taking the other man by the shoulders roughly, a desperate look coming into his eyes.

Grantaire thought, mind swimming hazily through a mist of wine, blood and the dim light of lanterns in the dark Parisian streets on summer evenings. He thought, and nodded slowly. 'I don't need to die here' he repeated, voice stronger and surer than he had expected. It hurt to see his leader, his perfect beauty, his friend so upset. They had all known really, that it would come to this, but death is never as neat and honorable as one expects. 'I don't need to die here, no. But you might give me the pleasure and privilege of dying by your side, if you would permit me to.' Enjolras's mouth opened to protest just as the door flew open and a dozen haggard looking young soldiers rushed in, brandishing guns and bayonets as their own leader yelled wildly behind them.

In the end, Grantaire realised, there was only one gift large enough to give the man he loved so much. Besides, what was left after he was gone? More nights at the bar, making small talk with people he hated and women he had grown to despise? No. If anyone deserved his life, it certainly wasn't him. What better way to go anyway, than hand in hand with the one person he cares about in life and make him smile one last time as they die for the cause he cared so much and so little about. He checks, one last time anyway. _Permets-tu?_ Whispers breathlessly in his ear one last time before the shots go off, just to feel the strong hand tighten around his. _Prends ma vie. Il est tout pour vous._ He is content to die, proud even.

In the end, there was only one gift that Grantaire was able to give to Enjolras. But it was the biggest one of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Permets-tu? - Do you allow/permit (it)?
> 
> Prends ma vie. Il est tout pour tu. - Take my life. It is all for you.


End file.
